Adonis Diaries

Promised Paradise way on Nahr Ibrahim (Lebanon); (Apr. 26, 2010)

My body is aching from yesterday horrendous adventure.

In the last three weeks, my nephew has been trekking sections of Nahr Ibrahim (Abraham River, in the district of Byblos,) in company of the wonderful and non complaining dog Misha.

Last Friday, my nephew blundered in my earshot that he is going trekking on Saturday.  I invited myself to be part of the trekking party.  My nephew didn’t respond, hoping that I am most probably jesting.

The next day, I got my tiny backpack ready for the adventure.

My nephew was pretty much lukewarm when confronted with this readiness on my part: he might have serious reservations (you might read my post on trekking in Sad Shabrouh for preliminary causes)

Obviously, I am wearing my swimming trunk: It is a matter of trekking by a river bed, but my nephew warned me that we will have to “wade” in sections of the river.  In my mind, wading means being submerged to the waist at best; I didn’t take into account reasonable factors such as slipping or falling into deep holes.

The party was of around 20 membersand in 5 cars.

We parked in the lowest valley village I know; the village is called Showan (I might edit this post for further details later on).

We reached a section of the river to cross of about only ten meters. It is not a roaring Amazon by any stretch of the imagination.

Big George hopped leisurely to the other side; he is wearing just a swimming trunk and a tiny backpack; he looked like Tarzan.

I was encouraged to be among the first strong hearted member of the trekking party, as is usually the case.  I tied my old pair of khaki sneaker around my neck and raised my jeans to the knee. And that should do the trick.

The first few steps got me face down; I am all wet and thus, nothing mattered anymore.  I hurried my “wading” exercise and fell down several times before I reached destination.  I am bruised, physically and emotionally.

The few cigarettes I had in my shirt pocket are ruined; I decided to remove the cigarettes from the wet box to dry out the cigarettes. I gently picked one cigarette from the box by the filter part and the filter easily separated. And it was the case for the other cigarettes one by one.  I had the pleasure of a discovery: the process of manufacturing local made cigarettes is basically gluing the filter part to the finished cigarette.

I undressed completely, save my swimming trunk: Health dictated that the swimming trunk should go too.  A few members were aligning a tree trunk to permit female members to cross the river safely.

Someone said to wait for my nephew since usually he brings a rope for that purpose. I cursed my hastiness, only to realize that my nephew wanted to make this adventure a Seal or Marine exercise: you have got to feel the pain!

George was in the middle of the river playing the school or scout guard in case of emergencies.  Suddenly, George exclaimed “I feel cold.” George remedy to warming up was to run like Tarzan to the promised paradise.

It goes without saying that I was the first to follow George.  I was not running at all: my wet sneakers weighted 20 pounds.  Then, I saw George hiding behind a bush, up a mount like Tarzan; I was climbing to rejoin him when he preempted me: “Don’t climb. I lost my way.”

Now George climbed a high rock in the river watching for any arriving company.  I ended “wading” my way by the river side to paradise land..

I am glad to report that “bodily navigation of cabotage” by river side made much sense to me.  A few members of the party were advancing ahead of me, using a secret path to a location.  I said: “Better not stop. Let us move on to the Promised Land.”

Karim said: We have reached destination!”  That was a major letdown.  Apparently, the goal was to reach a puny and sickly waterfall.

George hopped behind the Nahr Ibrahim “Water fall”, climbed a rock and sat like Buddha.  I lacked the energy to remove my sneaker and Jeans (weighting 50 pounds), climb a slippery stupid rock and emulate Buddha.

I was the first to vacate Nahr Ibrahim Paradise and got lost on my way back.

I got entangled by lichen and other sorts of nasty prickly branches.  I am back to “wading” by the river side. I realized that the soles of my sneakers are floating free; held miserably by the tip of the shoes.  I was no longer fooling myself: a military helicopter should land and take me home.

I reached first “base” wetter than a disgruntled cat.

One of soles had vanished in the river. I didn’t wait and immediately re-crossed the Rubicon wading in my favorite technique, world known as “Adonis49 super efficient wading technique” to be emulated by Marines and Seals.

I reached second base and harangued the dozen members who smartly refused to cross to get going and follow me: I wanted to urgently locate a sunny spot to dry.   A smart girl reminded me that the sun is no longer vigorous and barely could warm an ant.

Nothing could assassinate my plan: I have got to be first back to the parked car.  I lost my way again and waited for a member to show me the correct secret path. My nephew picked up the second sole and volunteered to relieve me of my weightier backpack: any pound less is a great boost to my morale.

The last 100 yards to destination was the most voluptuous and rewarding trip stretch ever.

When we arrived home, my nephew placed my “sole-freed” sneakers on my room threshold, along with one wet sole.  I asked him: “Why did you do that?  I thought that I left my useless sneakers where we were parked” (as a warning to trekkers in the village of Shwan to cancel their prospective projects).

Devilish William refused to leave any material evidences that might discourage trekkers in those damned vicinities.  I made the last effort to visit my sister just to tell her “I think it is a miracle that I am back”.

My sleeping sister could not but chuckle and interject: “You are supposed to know better than anyone what a trekking project means to William.”

This trekking was a well planned project to inflict most pains and humiliation, but I turned out to be a leader on my way back; and second to leaders most of the adventure.